


The Game

by JessJesstheBest



Series: Jessie Actually Finished NaNoWriMo and is Rewarding Herself by Writing 24 Days of Klaine (or Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2017) [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, I live in Penn State and they're closing the skellar and I'm sad, Klaine Advent, Klaine Advent 2017, Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2017, M/M, No specific AU just they didn't meet in high school, so have me making Kurt romanticize a grungy bar for 1600 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:46:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessJesstheBest/pseuds/JessJesstheBest
Summary: Here was the game: “What doyouthink is my drink?”





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> [Klaine Advent 2017](klaineadvent.tumblr.com): Day 4- Drink

There’s a game Kurt liked to play.

When he goes out for a drink, he knows how the night will go. He knows what will happen when he goes out alone, when he goes out with his female friends, when he goes out with his male friends. He knows what will happen when he goes to a club or a sports bar or a dive. Kurt doesn’t go out a lot, but he’s always been good at statistics. He can find a pattern – and not just the ones on fabrics.

He’s most likely to get picked up at a club when he’s with at least one gal pal. Sports bars have a pretty decent turnover rate, but usually it’s him picking up. He does better when he has guys with him but when he has his girls he does worse. No one really goes to dive bars to pick up but it does happen now and again. But only when Kurt is alone.

Tonight? Kurt is alone.

He knows better than to taint this sacred place with one of his work friends, or old college friends, or even one of his old Glee Club friends. This was a place of legend. A place his father had told him about. It felt private.

Of course it’s not really private: it’s a bar in a college town. People will be there.

And where there are people, there are people who want to pick up Kurt Hummel.

“Buy you a drink?”

Kurt smirks.

“Sure.”

The guy grins, leaning over the bar, angled towards Kurt just so. “What’ll you have?’

Here was the game: “What do  _ you _ think is my drink?”

The men at clubs go for something fruity and high in alcohol content. A Long Island or a Fuzzy Navel or a Sex on the Beach. Sometimes they’ll give Kurt whatever’s on special or whatever the house drink is. And Kurt drinks it, and sometimes dances with them, and sometimes takes them home depending on what drink they’d gotten him and what mood he’s in. But they never get his number.

The guys at sport’s bars get him a jack and coke or whiskey ginger or vodka soda. The fun ones get him what Finn calls ‘frat drinks’ – things called trash cans and monkey boys. The sport’s bar guys always have the funniest reasons too. One guy got him a White Russian because he said Kurt reminded him of some kind of winter god. He slept with that one. But that guy, nor any of the other ones, got his number either.

He was saving that for whoever did guess his drink.

This guy, the one at the dive bar, seems to know what’s at stake. He’s taking this question seriously.

He looks down at Kurt’s hand, wrapped loosely around a short glass on the bar. He points. “Old Fashioned?”

Kurt sighs. The guy says hurriedly “That wasn’t my guess! I’m just trying to get a feel. So was that?” He points at the empty glass again. “An Old Fashioned?”

Kurt smiles, popping an ice cube in his mouth. He nods.

The guy takes a moment, watching as Kurt licks a droplet off his bottom lip. He swallows before turning away.

“The ice is important,” He says, tapping the bar with his finger. “You’ve got to be an asshole to drink whiskey neat. And you are not an asshole. So that’s good to know.”

Kurt bites back a smile. He definitely is an asshole but this guy is cute. He doesn’t need to know that yet. “How do you know it’s whiskey?”

The guy looks at him, smiling brightly. “Because you are not an asshole and Old Fashioneds are traditionally made with whiskey. Only an asshole would ask for a substitute.”

Kurt laughs. To reiterate: he is an asshole. But it was whiskey.

“Your hair is done but your hands are rough, like you probably work with them. And your clothes are expensive but you’re in a dive bar which means you like nice things but are not a snob.” 

Kurt just looks at him, giving nothing away. He did work with his hands: he was a fashion designer. His hands were rough from sketching and pin pricks and the occasional woodworking when a piece got a bit avant garde. But as for the bar being a dive, that was just coincidence. He grew up hearing about this bar – an old haunt of his mom’s when she attended Berkeley College. She didn’t finish her degree, being called back to Ohio in her third year so she could attend to her father after he’d been injured at work. During that time she’d fallen in love with Kurt’s father and never went back. But she still had had fond memories of this bar which his father passed on to him when he decided he would study in New York. Now it was his own private haunt.

But this random bar guy didn’t need to know that.

Not that the guy was stressing that point. “Also you’re wearing a brooch with the Slytherin crest which makes you a nerd.”

Kurt tilts his head, back in the present. “What does that have to do with my drink?”

“Nothing, it just makes me like you more.”

Kurt’s ears turn pink and he smiles down at his glass, pulling out another ice cube.

This guy’s doing well. There was only one way to win Kurt’s game but he was definitely scoring some points. He was thoughtful, charming. Not creepy, which in this bar was huge.

And he’s cute, too. A collared shirt buttoned all the way to the top but short sleeves that hug his biceps. His dark hair is shaped into waves, parted on the side and falling over his forehead. These conscious decisions are important to Kurt: the decision that you were going to look good and taking active measures to make that happen. Buttoning your shirt. Styling your hair. It told Kurt more about who this guy is as a person than his bone structure or his smile. Though, those were also perfect.

“There has to be a reason you’re drinking an Old Fashioned even though the Old Fashioned is not your drink,” the guy continues, either oblivious to Kurt’s appraisal or unbothered by it. “Could be you had a hard day and needed something strong, or…” The guy stands up straight and grins. He holds up his hand signaling to the bartender winking at Kurt. “You’re avoiding gluten.”

Kurt blinks, his mouth dropping open, as this guy – this random guy – orders himself and Kurt two beers.

He tries to collect himself before the guy turns back around. “How am I supposed to drink that if I’m avoiding gluten?” he asks, neither confirming nor denying anything.

The guy shrugs, still smiling. “I’ll drink both if I need to. I just wanted to win.”

Kurt shakes his head, unable to hold back his smile as the bartender puts two pints of a pale ale in front of them. “How did you know?”

The guy takes a long pull of his drink, a foam mustache framing his easy grin. “About the avoiding gluten or the beer?”

Kurt shrugs, moving his empty glass to the side and pulling the pint slowly toward himself. “Either. Both.”

“Well the gluten one’s easy.” He takes another sip, humming. “Your voice. It’s all high and clear. You’re obviously a singer, right?”

Kurt hums, tracing his finger along the rim of the glass. He hasn’t decided if he’s going to drink it or not. “I used to be. Not so much these days.”

The guy tilted his head. “But?”

Kurt laughs. “ _ But _ . A couple high school friends are coming by tomorrow and we’re probably going to karaoke.” He grins. “I’m a bit competitive. Want to sound my best.”

“I’m sure you’ll be great.”

Kurt shakes his head. He can’t remember when he’d smiled so much. “And the beer?”

The guy shrugs, taking a daintier sip than he yet had. “I don’t know. You just seem like a beer guy.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Sure!” The guy says. He put his glass on the bar and folds his hands. “Your hands. You’ve got callouses on your fingers. I don’t know what you do, but you work hard. Aren’t afraid of tough work, physical work. That says ‘beer’ guy to me.”

Kurt avoids his eyes, fitting his hand around the glass. “Most people think I’m too delicate for beer.”

“Those people are idiots.”

Kurt’s mouth twitches and he gives in, taking a sip of his beer. It’s a Heineken. Kurt hums.

The guy’s smile had softened. He sticks out a hand, “My name’s Blaine.”

Kurt takes a moment to swallow, extending his own hand to take Blaine’s. “Kurt.”

“Kurt…?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Hummel.”

“Hummel!” Blaine smacks the bar. “That’s German. Beer! Damn, I’m amazing.”

Kurt laughs. “And you? Blaine….?”

“Anderson.”

Kurt smiles. “Blaine Anderson. Your drink?”

Blaine hops up on a stool, leaning his elbow on the bar. “What do you think?”

Kurt barely stops to think. “Vodka Cranberry.”

Blaine lets out a bark of laughter before draining his beer. “You are exactly right.” He signals to the bartender again. “Vodka Cran, please.”

Kurt takes another sip of his beer. Blaine was right, he didn’t need to avoid gluten just to sing karaoke. His medium was better than everyone else’s best.

“You know what they say, Blaine. Beer before liquor.”

“Yeah, well.” He signs his slip, closing out his tab. “I’m hoping this will be my last drink of the night.” He looks at Kurt significantly.

Kurt looks back, taking a long pull of his beer. It’s now half empty.

Blaine grins.

The next morning, Blaine leaves Kurt’s apartment, Kurt’s number in his phone.

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable version](http://saywhatjessie.tumblr.com/post/168208814185/the-game)


End file.
